


Lost Glasses

by ardentmuse



Series: Merlin Oneshots [6]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love at First Sight, Phone Calls & Telephones, Romance, Secret Identity, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 22:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18019880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentmuse/pseuds/ardentmuse
Summary: A request from anon: could i ask for “Love Before First Sight” with merlin or harry please? your writing is so lovely :)When James loses a pair of glasses, you find them and discover the man on the other end may be your dream man.





	Lost Glasses

“Hey, Hamish, dear mate, best friend,” James said as he knocked on the door to Hamish’s new office in the Kingsman manor.

Hamish turned to see the sheepish expression on James’s face and the rosiness of his cheeks.

“What did you do, James?” he asked with clear judgment in his tone.

“Well,” James said with a drawl, taking a step into the room, “I may have lost those glasses you gave me last week.” He finished with an attempt at his signature smile, but the corners were a little too tight and his teeth gritted in nervousness.

“You did what?” Hamish said with a surprising amount of calm, hoping to give James the opportunity to correct his statement.

“I left my house for a party Saturday night and when I came back they weren’t where I thought I left them. I don’t know if they fell out of my pocket or what,” James paused to take a breath, looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry”

All Hamish could do was sigh and rub at the bridge of his nose. James was going to be the death of him. Or he was going to be the death of James. He wasn’t sure. But his friend was definitely pushing his patience of recent.

“Okay,” Hamish finally said, turning to his computer screens.

“Okay?” James asked hopefully.

“Okay,” Hamish confirmed, still not meeting his gaze.

“So,” James pushed, “Do I get a new pair or…”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Hamish stated, deep in the keys, “Not until you can prove you can be responsible with them.”

“Ouch, Dad.”

That got Hamish to turn in his chair, giving James the deepest scowl he could muster.

“Okay, Okay, I’m going!” James confirmed, practically running out of the office and shutting the door behind him.

Hamish sighed once more. This was potentially a huge security breach. Now he would have to spend quite a bit of his day trying to hunt down what James had lost.

He clicked around through his systems until he was able to access the cameras on James’s glasses. The image flickered onto the screen, but all he could see as a wooden floor, white baseboards, and the bottom edge of what appeared to be bookshelves. Somewhere in the world, James’s glasses were just sitting on a library or study floor.

Hamish tried to get what details he could. He read and catalogued the book titles he could see, but they didn’t reveal much of anything other than whomever owned them had an affinity for the classics. Jane Austens and Brontes lined most of the first lower shelf. A few Holmes and Miss Marples found home on the second.

Hamish cursed quietly under his breath as he tried to see if he could determine anything that might make the location more specific. The GPS technology he had been developing was just now small enough to wire into the glasses, though those prototypes wouldn’t be done for another few weeks. For now, he’d just have context clues as guides.

He kept the window small in the corner of his screen as he continued to work, hoping that something might come into frame. He had completely forgot about them until he was shutting down his systems at the end of the night.

In the corner of his eye, he saw the image shake, more of the shelves come into frame until the image was clearly at someone’s eye height. Quickly, he threw on his own glasses and prepared to speak.

You had been doing some quick clean-up of your home after the party you had thrown the previous Saturday. Your parents had been celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary and you had made sure that their party was a big one. Family, co-workers, and friends alike, filled every room of your home, drinking wine and celebrating the love that was your parents. It had taken you a while to get to cleaning the study where a group of your cousins had set up a makeshift cigar bar. And that was when you discovered a strange pair of glasses on the floor.

They were pretty but they didn’t appear to actually adjust anything visually, and so you threw them on your face. You were about to turn for the bathroom, to look at yourself in the mirror, curious as to how they framed your face when a voice sounded so clearly in your ear.

“Hello,” Hamish said.

“Eeep!” you screamed as you tossed the glasses off your face and across the room. What sort of weird prank glasses were these? You stared at them, confused, looking around the room to make sure you were alone, before you picked them back up again, rotating them in your hands to find the source of the sound.

You heard noise once more, though it was muffled. Hesitantly, you placed the glasses back on your face once more, the voice growing clearer as you did so.

“Don’t be frightened,” Hamish said, trying to soften his voice which wasn’t the easiest thing for him.

“Wh-What is this?” you asked, turning your head, unsure of where to look given the strange circumstances.

Hamish felt his stomach immediately drop out. Your voice, whomever you were, was the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. It was a melody to his ears that he could listen to until the end of time, a song that he would follow into death if you asked it. In his mind, he already began forming an image of you, young and beautiful and kind, a nymph forced to dwell among lowly humans like himself.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, love,” he found himself saying before he could think better of it.

You couldn’t help but laugh. Whatever absurd game this was, at least the man on the other end was sweet and gentle, his voice masculine and strong enough to make you swoon, even if he hadn’t called you love.

“Well, try me,” you said, reaching your hands up to run along the frames, trying to find the source of the microphone or whatever weird audio function this way.

Merlin chuckled, debating whether he should be honest. But he knew the truth was too hard to believe that he could just say it without even giving the secret away.

“Well, I’m the communications lead for an independent national intelligence agency, a spy organization if you will, and a member of my team decided it would be a good idea to lose his glasses somewhere where you could find them. We use these to communicate with headquarters during missions.”

You let out a full, hearty laugh, and Merlin had to suppress his sigh from being audible to you. Your laughter seemed so natural, like you laughed constantly in your everyday life, a contagious laugh that made him smile just at the sound of it.

“Nice try there, sir,” you said, “I assure you none of my foolish cousins could be spies. I’m going to assume these are some sort of trick walkie-talkies that they use for jokes. So which cousin assigned you to prank me, hm? Charles? Max? Jimmy?”

“No one, love. I’d never want to prank you.”

You found yourself blushing despite yourself. Whomever was on the other end of these glasses was quite the charmer. But this joke had already gone far enough.

“So this was fun, but you can tell whomever told you to chat me up that I was thoroughly amused, ‘kay?”

Merlin found himself desperate to keep you on the line. For whatever reason, your playful disbelief was sucking him in.

“One thing before you go, dear?”

“Yes,” you said as you began to make the way out of your study and towards your kitchen to prepare dinner.

“Either destroy these glasses or keep them safely hidden. If they fell into the wrong hands, it could be a matter of life and death.”

“Still sticking to the spy story, I see,” you quipped as you pulled out produce to prepare your dinner, “Well, I’ll be sure they don’t leave my possession. Though how can you be sure I’m not the ‘wrong hands’?”

“I trust you,” Hamish said, though he had no idea why he was saying it.

He watches as your hand came up to tuck hair behind your ear and he smiled at the realization that his flirting might actually be working on whatever captivating creature existed underneath James’s frames.

“Well, goodnight, Bond,” you said as you began peeling potatoes for your dinner.

“Goodnight, Sherry,” Hamish said, smiling at your nickname for him, knowing you didn’t believe a single word he said.

“Sherry?” you asked, confused.

Merlin swore to himself, realizing you must not have known that he could see what you were seeing. You had just pulled out cooking wine for your meal and in Merlin’s mind, you were now defined by that bottle of sherry. You were a cook, a person who appreciated pulling out the flavors in the ingredients you used, something he could appreciate. But telling you he could see through your eyes seemed creepier than he wanted you to think he was.

“Cheri,” he corrected.

You smiled at the pet name, finding yourself succumbing to the attention even if this was some elaborate prank.

“Well, Bond,” you said, putting on a pot of water to boil, “Maybe we can do this again sometime?”

“Put on the glasses and I’ll be there,” he reassured, his heart light at the idea of speaking to you again.

“Have a good night, then, Mr. Bond.”

“You too, darling,” he said, shutting down all of his comm for the night but not before temporarily disabling the visual to the glasses, not wanting to invade your privacy any more than he already had. 

He may need to apologize to James in the morning. Maybe.

Probably not. But maybe.

After a nice meal and a couple chapters of the novel you were currently reading, you found yourself in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. The attractive voice of the mysterious man on the other end of the glasses was haunting your mind, keeping sleep just out of reach.

After a moment, you reached into your bedside drawer and pulled out the thick frames you had hidden there and threw them on your face. You heard nothing on the other end as you stared up at the ceiling. You cursed under your breath, upset for allowing yourself to think these trick glasses might actually be the connection point to some mysterious sweet flirt who would be at your beck and call.

After a moment, you finally spoke, “Hey, Bond?”

The words stuck in the air of your bedroom, thick and heavy. You waited a handful of seconds and then laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Of course no one was on the other side. These pranksters had shut off the walkie talkies long ago.

“What’s got your laughing, cheri?” Hamish asked, scaring you and pleasing you simultaneously.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, turning onto your side and nuzzling into your pillow.

“Something worrying you?”

“No, just distracted.”

“By what?” he asked, as he too turned over in his bed.

You debated whether or not to be honest. Finally, you decided this whole situation was beyond embarrassing as was. Nothing you said could make it worse.

“You,” you whispered into the space in front of you.

Merlin was shocked by your words and found himself blushing for the first time in years.

“Me?”

You quickly explained, “I don’t understand who you are. And if this is a prank, why are you being so nice to me?”

“I already told you who I am,” he affirmed, pulling his pillow closer to his face, “And this isn’t a prank.”

“Okay, mysterious nice man, will you help me sleep then?”

“What would be helpful?”

“Maybe we talk? Get to know each other?”

Merlin turned over in his bed, listening to the anxiety in your voice, the pleasantness of your words. Somewhere in this country was an angel who wished to fall asleep to the gentle sounds of his voice, to get to know him better. He sighed.

“Alright, cheri, we’ll get to know each other.”

And you smiled into your pillow as the man on the other end proceeded to tell you about his day. Mundane stuff about his coworkers and his lunch, but his voice was a captivating drone that slowly lulled you into a deep slumber.

And so that was how it went for the next several days. Each night, you curled into bed, put on your glasses and got to know the mysterious, brilliant, snarky man on the other end.

Tuesday you discussed your families. Merlin had you in stitches as he weaved you tales of his playground antics, always strategizing the best hide and seek strategies, annoying teachers when they couldn’t find him to go inside at the end of recess. You shared with him your holiday traditions, the small ways you and your parents enjoyed your times off together. Laughter abounded into the morning.

Wednesday you discussed your favorites: favorite drinks, favorite vacations, favorite memories. Words flew between the two of you with ease. Hamish found your answers to be like poetry, weaving this rich tapestry of a person with passions and interested and hopes, one that was full of life and enthusiasm and a tinge of sadness, a beautifully imperfect person. A lovable person.

Thursday was dislikes, in Merlin’s opinion the best way to get to know another person. And he found you shared many pet-peeves, so many that he could begin to envision how your lives might blend together rather seamlessly.

By Friday, you could see a better picture of this man, too. He valued logic and imagination, was honest, direct and open-minded, work-oriented, but was capable of a magnetic lightness that somehow kept him grounded. He was a tad bit insecure but played it off for humor in a way that helped you open up about your doubts and fears as well.

By Friday, you could say you had fallen quite hard for the phantom who spoke to you in the wee hours of the morning.

And by Friday, Merlin was looking haggard. Staying up and talking to you was not time he would ever give back, but it left him ill-prepared for work the following days. As the week came to an end, he was really feeling it.

“A little tired there, Merlin?” Harry asked, pulling Hamish’s attention back to the debriefing meeting they were supposed to be having. Harry passed a cup of tea to his friend, making himself a new one to replace it.

“Sorry,” Merlin said, before taking a giant swig, “Haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

“Stress with the new prototypes?”

“No, I think I’m falling in love.”

Harry spit, quickly pulling his handkerchief to his face, whipping himself off so he could meet Hamish’s gaze. All he had to do was raise an eyebrow in question before the whole story was out on the table,

“And you don’t know her name?”

“No.”

“And she doesn’t know yours?”

“No.”

“But she has spy glasses and doesn’t know you are a spy?”

“No.”

Harry sighed, so confused by how such a thing could happen, but completely in belief that Hamish could fall in love with a woman just on her words.

“What are you going to do about it?” he finally asked.

“Not a clue,” Hamish admitted, finishing his tea before pulling Harry back to the debriefing documents, yawning sporadically as they planned.

That night, Harry had to attend a party undercover, a large gala for a large charity primarily funded by the target. That meant no night in bed for Merlin, as he ran comms for Harry from the tailors just a few blocks over.

He hadn’t been paying attention to the time, prepping for the mission and all, and so when he heard your voice come through his earpiece, he startled.

“Bond?” you asked, your voice more tentative than usual.

“I have to go to this party tonight for work, and I’m a little nervous. Would I be able to take you with me?”

“You know talking to yourself throughout a social gathering seems like the worst way to make a good impression,” he quipped.

“I won’t be talking to myself. I’ll be talking to you.”

Hamish took a moment. Harry didn’t really need his full attention tonight and you wouldn’t be in need of his full attention either. Besides, whatever excuse to talk to you more, he was going to take it.

“Sounds good, love,” he finally agreed.

As the night went on, you commented occasionally on the dresses people were wearing, the quality of the food, or how much your boss made you angry with the way he treated you as lesser than some of your more bossy and in-your-face coworkers. Hamish listened intently and provided advice where he could as he subtly watched Harry make his way among the gala attendees.

But as he was switching between communication channels on the audio, he accidentally switched over the video too. What he found was rather shocking.

The image through Harry’s glasses was of a large ballroom with stone pillars and a gold leaf ceiling, high tables with white cloths, champagne as far as the eye can see. The image through Cheri’s glasses was a mirror image, the same ballroom, same decor, same stuffy people. You were just on the other side of the hall.

Quickly, Hamish flipped to Harry.

“She’s there. She’s there.”

“She,” Harry whispered as he took a sip of his cocktail, “The target is a he. Who’s she?”

“Cheri, my girl, the one I was telling you about. She’s there with you.”

Harry understood immediately and began scanning the ballroom, though he had no idea what you looked like.

“Do you have a visual from her?”

“Seems to your five o’clock, but I can’t be certain. Her dress is blue, at least it looks it when she looks down at her hands. There’s a bar beside her and what appears to be a stage. I don’t know, Harry. I don’t know,” Merlin was rambing now, determined to find his dream girl in real life, an answer to his prayers in so many ways.

“Calm down, mate. I’m on it,” Harry reassured, catching just a glimpse of you before the crowd shifted and cut you off. “Oh, Hamish, you’re going to be happy about this. She’s gorgeous.”

“You see her? How come I can’t see her?” Hamish was losing it now.

“Just come down here and see for yourself.”

Immediately, Hamish had jumped out of his chair and flicked on his coat. He practically ran the three blocks to the hotel hosting the gala. Once inside, he had no clue where to go.

But then he saw you. He saw you and immediately knew. Even if you hadn’t been wearing the signature glasses, he would have spotted you anyway.

You wore a light blue flowing dress that complimented your skin so nicely, your hair was out of your face and the glasses were just a smidgen too big, drawing his eyes to your cheeks and eyebrows that shaped your face. Your lips were puckered around a champagne flute, kissable and pouty at the same time. But most importantly, you glowed. You radiated kindness as you chatted with your colleagues. The party seemed to move around you as opposed to the other way around. You were on a different plain, one he never dreamed would welcome him.

And when you met his eyes, you smiled just a little. He watched the color in your cheeks change ever so before you turned away, twirling your glass in your hands.

He couldn’t stop the smile that spread all over his face. Your attraction to him apparent in your entire body. He was so grateful that whatever you had when you were but voices in space might actually make beautiful chemistry in real life.

He took swift steps to approach you and tapped you on the shoulder.

When you turned and looked up into his eyes, he found himself blushing.

“I believe those glasses belong to me, cheri.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times before letting out a breathless, “Bond?”

“It’s Hamish, actually,” he corrected.

“Y/N,” you whispered, still in a daze.

Hamish reached out a hand for you to shake, but you swiftly rejected it. You slowly wrapped your arms around his waist and placed your head heavily on his broad, strong chest. Instinctively his arms curled around you, his cheek coming to rest on the crown of your head, taking in your scent that he had spent the past few days imagining. It was heaven.

“How’d you find me?” you asked into his coat.

“I told you I’m a spy,” he whispered in return, stroking your back and gently kissing your forehead.

You looked up to meet his gaze. His smile was soft but cheeky.

“You aren’t lying, are you?”

“No,” he affirmed.

After a moment of quiet staring, you finally built up the courage to ask, “So may I kiss you then, Hamish, or should we have a proper date first?”

He chuckled. “I think we’ve had about a week of dates already. It’s probably time for a week of kisses to make up for it.”

And with those words he bent down and took your lips against his, the kiss just as electric as everything else about your connection. You knew immediately that the man whose words you loved would also be a man of actions and thoughts and passions, one you’d gladly get to know until the wee hours of the morning over and over again for as long as he’d allow you.


End file.
